A Doctor's Memoirs
by Julibee-Darling
Summary: Our beloved movie given a Disney-styled romance, contents are largely canon.
1. Lost in the Streets

**Author's Notes  
**

Hello everyone! Wow, has it been a few years since I've posted something! Oh, the nostalgia… in any case, I bring you a work of fanfiction! I personally call it a retelling of the movie we all adore, with a Disney romantic twist because I simply cannot STAND that Basil never had a love interest::cries hysterically:: Basil was waayyy too dynamic a character NOT to have one! But that may be my own hopeless-romantic self shining through. A quick comment, I skipped the very opening scene with Hiram's kidnapping. Everybody knows it happened anyway, yah? -.-0 (Okay I confess it was utter laziness that prompted it).

In any case I present this with the utmost respects to our dearest author Mouselady, aka Ethel M. Grimes, who wrote the most plausible, wonderful Basil x OC story on the net, "In Memory of Elizabeth". If you haven't read it, GO READ IT!!! Also, I pay my respects to Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn, who wrote "Friend", the most comprehensive story on Basil's personality and character EVER. It helped me get a better understanding of Basil so I could write him better. She simply NAILED phrases and descriptions of him, and I confess to borrowing a few of her words. This does not mean I plagurized her! Simply that some of her adjectives and descriptions were borrowed and modified. My hat is off to her, so go read "Friend" and review it too!

I don't own The Great Mouse Detective---he and the wonderful cast belongs to Disney Enterprises and Eve Titus. I do own several OCs that appear in the story, however I did try in earnest to use canon-characters. I'll probably give an official list later.

And with that, I hope everybody enjoys. Please leave some feedback, and I don't care if it's nasty or nice. I put a lot of effort, time, and research into this project so feedback of any sort will be deeply appreciated. You may even get a fanart dedicated to you… ::is slapped for her attempt at bribery::

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_London, 1904 _

I must admit that in the ten years I have been acquainted with Detective Sherringford Basil, I have never noticed the sheer number of journals I have used to document the cases we have solved together. It is almost ironic that I spend my first night of retirement marveling at the bookcase containing these precious memoirs and realize that they aren't organized enough to make sense to anyone else. The task of putting them right seems almost Herculean, but perhaps they will help ease me into my new, peaceful existence. When I look back on my life I find it almost surreal that I spent nearly a decade as a private investigator. It was such a far cry from the surgeon's life I had led since my emergence from university all those years ago, and I treasure the memories of the experience.

It's difficult to believe that ten years have passed since I first met Basil. Having been in the Queen's service in Afghanistan for so many years I had never heard of the person dubbed 'the Great Mouse Detective' by an admiring public before the description in the newspaper clipping that was handed to me that dreary night so long ago. In fact, in the beginning I was even skeptical about Basil's reputation until I witnessed his skills firsthand!

I had even more trouble coming to grips with the fact that Basil of Baker Street was only twenty seven years old when I arrived on his doorstep! It would be several months into our partnership before I began to ponder how old he was. The question had never really occurred to me because Basil seemed to be ageless, handsome with striking deep green eyes and sharp features. However, when Mrs. Judson confided in me that she wished to make a special dinner for his approaching twenty-eighth birthday, I was astounded and unable to believe that Sherringford Basil, who was so admired by society and law enforcement officers, was just a few years out of his mouselinghood!

I must admit that it's taken me much of the ten years I've known him to come to understand him. It is difficult to think of ways to describe my comrade's personality in adjectives. Mercurial, charismatic, unpredictable, eccentric, and socially awkward are words that only brush the surface of Basil's complicated character. My first impression of him was expressed perfectly in the words of the young lady who eventually became his wife: "He's barking mad!"

I would learn that his outward coldness and unconventional behaviors didn't quite hide his deep-rooted sense of justice and the passion he had for his work. He was even ignorant of his own charisma and poise that left every person who met him with a strong opinion of him, either regarding him with heroic worship or despising him with black vengeance.

Ah, here is a journal of particular interest and perhaps my most crucial, if not my favorite. The red binding is worn and faded and the paper is yellowed, but the words are as clear as my personal memories. This chapter depicts the story of my introduction to Sherringford Basil, the Great Mouse Detective, and the greatest case he has ever solved.

_London, 1897 _

Thick, impenetrable black clouds covered the London night sky, streaked with occasional flashes of lightning and producing endless torrents of wind-slanted sheets of icy cold water. The late evening hour and the weather had driven most of the population, both human and mice, into shelter so the streets seemed unusually desolate. Clutching the skirts of her dress through her long midnight blue woolen coat, Lillian Dodie ran down a shadowy ally that led into Treesbury Lane, careful to keep herself as hidden and inconspicuous as possible. Even though she'd left London's Cheapside far behind, she didn't know how far that horrid creature's influence reached or how many of his minions roamed outside his territory.

Deeming it safe enough to pause and catch her breath, the young lady mouse wandered behind an old wine crate, finding a drafty but temporary relief from the drenching rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, sighing as water dripped out of her saturated clothing. Thoroughly chilled and feeling as if she were wandering a mist-laden maze, her craftily veiled imprisonment had dulled her sense of London's streets. Her paws were shaking with nervousness and cold as she forced herself away from her hiding place and continued down the narrow street. She couldn't give up her search for Baker Street yet—Thomas was counting on her, and if she returned and somebody had noticed her absence at the bar that evening… she'd be food for that horrid feline that monster kept as a pet!

Lillian started, jumping backwards when a couple of old glass milk bottles crashed onto the ground a few feet ahead of her. Looking around for signs of movement, she heaved a sigh of relief when a small girl-mouse stumbled out into the middle of the ally. She stopped, watching the little one. What was she doing outside on the streets at this hour, and all by herself? She couldn't have been more than eight years old, wearing a pale blue coat and a beret with a brilliant red tuft on top. Realizing that the girl was crying Lillian's heart thumped in deep sympathy—she was obviously lost and alone, no different than her. Against her better judgment and the terrible hurry she was in, maternal instincts prompted her into calling out to the child with a warm smile.

"Hello there," Lillian said as she approached, lowering herself down on her haunches. The girl came up to her reluctantly, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. "What's wrong? What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The girl whimpered before another emotional wave of tears obstructed any words she would have attempted to say, and she sobbed loudly into the sleeve of her coat. Looking around frantically, Lillian spotted an abandoned black rubber rain boot close to an old pinstriped mattress and a sack of old newspapers. "Come over hear dear, we can talk in a relatively dry place, if you like."

The little girl nodded jerkily and allowed Lillian to guide her by the hand towards the rain boot. Inside there was a small box of _Gaston's Liver-Pills, _and the two female mice made themselves as comfortable as possible. Lillian did her best to calm the hysterical girl, wiping her tears and runny nose with her hands, as she had no handkerchief in her pockets.

"It's all right, darling. Take a few deep breaths and calm down. You're safe."

As the horse-drawn carriage rolled down the paved avenue, the smallest passenger had almost forgotten how dreary English weather could become. However, after two years of military service in the dry heat of Afghanistan, Dr. David Q. Dawson welcomed the cool, wet atmosphere. He sat on the iron step of the small stagecoach, looking over a copy of the _Illustrated Mousedom Times. _Refreshment bubbled warmly in his chest despite the chilly weather, too content to finally hold an English-printed newspaper on the day it was published.

The horse whinnied as the coach pulled to a stop, and the large fellow Dawson had caught a ride with stepped heavily onto the sidewalk. Seeing that they had stopped on Treesbury Lane, the middle aged doctor gathered his suitcase and leapt down from the step-stair. Watching the carriage pull away and vanish into the fog, Dawson returned to the newspaper, specifically the Community section and the rooms-to-let listings. He'd already circled several possible living spaces to be inspected the following day, remembering that there was a pleasant bed-and-breakfast a few short blocks away.

Heavy raindrops were preceded by a clap of thunder. Feeling the water drizzle onto his outstretched hand and newspaper, Dawson quickly pulled off his half-moon reading spectacles and tucked them safely into the inner-breast pocket of his coat. Exchanging the newspaper for the umbrella in his suitcase, the good doctor opened the black canvas and turned towards the small ally behind him. Though dark and heavily clutter of the humans that lived in the buildings surrounding it, he had no fear of a lurking cat—surely they had all scurried to find shelter from the water.

Dawson smiled, a lovely image of evening tea and crumpets at the bed-and-breakfast coming to mind as a distraction from the terrible weather. The vision however, was interrupted when his round ears perked at the sound of a crying child and a young lady.

"It's all right, Olivia, I'm certain we can find Baker Street and that Mr. Basil will be happy to help us both!"

Listening closely, he noticed the sounds were coming from a black, discarded rain boot. Stepping up to it, the doctor peered inside and murmured to himself in astonishment. Inside were two female mice, their coats soaked with rainwater and clearly distraught about something. After all, it was hardly normal for a small girl and her older sister to be outside in the rain at night and unaccompanied! The young lady was desperately trying to comfort the girl, kneeling in front of her and brushing away the steady falling of tears.

"Pardon me, ladies, but are you all right?" he asked gently, slowly entering the boot and setting his suitcase and umbrella down.

Lillian and Olivia looked up as a plump, middle-aged mouse approached them, producing a handkerchief from his coat's vest pocket and offered it gallantly to Olivia.

"Come, come now, my dear. Here, dry your eyes."

Lillian stood up and put her paws on Olivia's shoulders protectively as she observed the strange mouse. Like her he was dressed for travel, his clothing neat, clean, and perfectly in place. His features were kind and warm with sympathy and a gentleman's manners--clearly not an associate of the criminal she was running from. Convinced when he glanced at her passively, she let go of the little girl and sat down beside her as Olivia took the cream-colored handkerchief and blew her tiny nose.

Olivia breathed deeply, feeling overwhelmed. Her daddy had taught her that she shouldn't speak to strangers and to use her marbles to find a police-mouse to help her find her way back to him. But she'd been wandering the streets for hours and it seemed that there were no police-mice out that night! The pretty lady that had called out to her was so kind, and she seemed to genuinely want to help her—like a mother, or a big sister almost. And she had said she needed to see Mr. Basil too! The man that had just come up to them was just like Miss Lillian, and she recognized the gentleness in his eyes that her daddy had so often shown her. Sniffling, she looked up at the man and waited for him to speak.

"Ah yes, that's much better," Dawson said, tucking his linen cloth back into his pocket. "Now tell me, Miss, what seems to be the trouble?"

"We're a bit lost, sir," Lillian replied politely. "We both sort of ran into each other a few minutes ago looking for the same person."

"May I inquire whom it is that drives a young lady and a child into a desperate search at such a late hour?"

"B-Basil of Baker Street," Olivia said with a sigh as she tugged a newspaper clipping out of her little coat pocket and handed it to the old mouse.

"Let me see here," Dawson said, placing his glasses neatly on his nose and skimming the article. It must have been several days old for he didn't remember this particular police report "Famous detective solves baffling disappearance… ah, but where are your families? Your mother and father?"

"T-that's why I m-must find Basil!" Olivia exclaimed as fresh tears gushed out of her eyes and she buried her little face in her wet scarf, the sound of her crying slightly muffled by the fabric. Lillian wrapped her arms around the little girl and hugged her tightly, looking helplessly at Dawson as he sputtered in mild panic at Olivia's renewed hysteria.

"Her father was kidnapped earlier this evening and she's been searching for Baker Street all night. My fiancé and I have been forced to work for someone for two years, and I need Mr. Basil's help to free him."

"I'm afraid that I don't know any Basil." Dawson watched Olivia raise her head from her scarf and look up at him, and he marveled at the anguish and hopelessness he found in the child's eyes. He could feel his kind old heart melting instantly, and he smiled reassuringly down at her. "But I do remember where Baker Street is."

"Oh sir!" Lillian gasped as Olivia beamed widely, wiping the remains of her tears away with her paw. "Would you please be so kind and to tell us how to get there?"

"If you'll permit me Miss, I shall accompany you. It'll be safer for you both and give me peace at heart knowing that you arrived there safely."

"I don't want to be a burden to you, sir," she said as he opened his umbrella and picked up his suitcase.

"Nonsense, Baker Street isn't so far out of the way to my own destination. Now, come with me. We'll all find this Basil chap together."

The rain and gloom of the night had lifted by the time Dawson, Olivia, and Lillian reached Baker Street. As Lillian had anticipated, Baker Street was located in one of the nicer districts of London and was a clean, brightly lit avenue with a golden street plate and fine brick homes. The lovely, spry music of a violin drifted on the breeze, and they could see a human silhouetted through a window shade in the upper story of the corner house. With a bit of exploring, they soon discovered 221B was located just behind the leafy plants beside the stone step way that led to the front door. Setting his suitcase on the ground, Dawson rapped on the door.

A moment later it creaked open and the three mice were greeted by a portly lady-mouse in a blue dress and a large white bonnet. Her arms were filled with an assortment of odd trinkets—a cushion, blanket, two books, an iron mace, a roll of parchment, and a teacup—but she smiled tiredly nonetheless.

"Good evening, madam," Dawson said, taking off his hat and nodding his head respectfully. "Is this the residence of Basil of Baker Street?"

"I'm afraid it is," the old woman replied, her voice benevolent. Lillian and Olivia liked her immediately. "He's not here at the moment, but you're welcome to come in and wait."

Dawson smiled and chuckled thankfully at her invitation. She was such a lovely woman, lopsided bonnet and all! "Oh, dear madam, I don't want to impose. It's just the young ladies here."

"Good evening, mum," Lillian made a small curtsy and looked down, only to find empty space at her side where Olivia had been standing. Looking around and not seeing the little girl anywhere, the older mice peered inside the door to find her already sitting by the fireplace on a large red-velvet easy chair in the parlor. She was clutching a magnifying glass curiously, enlarging one of her big brown eyes to absurd proportions.

"Oh my!" Mrs. Judson exclaimed, shoving her armload into Dawson's hands and forgetting all about his and Lillian's presence as she rushed back into the house. The poor little thing was drenched! Quickly pulling off the little girl's hat and wringing the excess water out, Mrs. Judson also made short work of Olivia's scarf and coat. "You poor dear, you must be chilled to the bone! But I know just the thing," she said with a chuckle. "Let me fetch you a pot of tea and some of my fresh cheese crumpets!"

And in a blink she was gone, vanished behind a door into the kitchen. Looking at each other and shrugging, Lillian and Dawson walked into the house and closed the door. Hanging their coats on the dark oak rack beside the door, the two older mice wandered into the den, gradually taking in their surrounds. The flat was nothing grandiose, simply cozy with an uncomplicated layout but cluttered with a vast multitude of furniture and trinkets—this Basil character was obviously not the neatest chap living in Mousedom.

Surrounding the den was a small platform three steps high, which circled the room and lead to another closed door and a cushioned window seat. Dawson and Lillian marveled at the objects lining the pinstriped-paper walls, finding everything from maps to portraits to a dart board that served as a coat hanger for a deep crimson smoking robe.

On the other hand, Olivia was fixated on the chemistry set on the other side of the room. A large table was crammed with a small jungle of beakers, bottles, and curling glass tunnels. Numerous household knick-knacks interconnected to create a strange makeshift machine that puffed cigarettes while a wheel turned different boots through a paintbrush and printed their soles on scraps of paper. Notes, half-melted candles, and a steaming chipped teapot covered what little space remained, and a skull wearing a number-eight billiards ball created a macabre scene that seemed to breath, bubble, and pop with its own life.

Lillian sighed, relishing the feeling of warmth as she settled into the green easy-seat across from Olivia. Gazing sleepily at the fire, the young lady mouse wondered if her beloved Thomas had noticed she'd gone missing yet. Perhaps she should have told him her plans before she'd left so he'd have enough wits to not raise a fuss about her absence…

She stiffened, realizing that the mantelpiece was covered with newspaper clippings depicting a crime-lord's past skirmishes and a photograph of the nefarious cad who was the source of her misery and fear. Her brown eyes widened, finding it ironic that the detective also kept a small collection of keepsake reminders of his rival on his fireplace mantel.

Dawson had busied himself admiring a large African tribal mask leaning against an overflowing dresser. The thing was as tall as the ceiling, painted a deep purple and embellished with gold makeup and hoop earrings. This Detective Basil certainly had enough foreign valuables to furnish a museum exhibit! His large round ears perked upon hearing a loud, triumphant laugh approaching from outside, and the old mouse turned around in time to see a large, white Chinese mouse burst through the door.

"That villain slipped this time! I shall have him!"

The good doctor stiffened as a bolt of lightning dramatically silhouetted the shady character as he held up a pistol and grinned like a maniac. Hardly expecting to see such a hooligan come through the door, Dawson barely managed to stumble out of the creature's way as he raced through the room as a billowing wisp of red and gold.

"Out of my way! Out of my way!"

"I say!" Dr. Dawson exclaimed as the visitor's small red cap landed squarely on his head. "Who are you?" he demanded irritably, yanking the tiny thing off of his ears as the other mouse halted and whirled around as if astonished that he wasn't recognized.

Then, realizing his blunder, the mouse seized a handful of his hair and swiftly pulled his head clean off his shoulders with a soft pop, revealing another face beneath the mask. It was a devilishly good looking young man, smiling gleefully and bowing extravagantly as he introduced himself.

"Basil of Baker Street, my good fellow."

* * *

Author's Notes: 

You like? I hope you did! Part two is already mostly completed, all I need is for the general public to show an interest in seeing more. I send much love to all and hope to see you guys again soon!


	2. Basil of Baker Street

**Author's Notes**

Hello again everybody! Wow, second installment of this published so soon! I'm doing pretty well with this, let's hope that I can keep it up! Well, upon rereading the author's notes of the last one I realized that I horrendously butchered the word "plagiarized". Please forgive me, I do run the spell checker, I do I do I do!

Oh! Real quick too, I've been informed by skyechan that the name "Sherringford" was a name given to Basil by another pastiche author since his first name was never given. Oops…--0 I'd seen Sherringford stamped on so many fanfics and stuff I kinda figured that it came from the book. Many apologies! Credit for the first name goes to Diane N. Tran. She picked a good name for him, I think!

See chapter one for the disclaimer.

Please enjoy! And I send many thanks to first-time readers and returning ones too ::big hugs::

* * *

"Basil of Baker Street, my good fellow."

The doctor stared at the other mouse in bewilderment, still unable to grasp the extreme proportions of his body until the detective gave a yank on a string inside his robes and a great burst of air exploded from the fabric. The robes sagged around a tall, lithe frame instantly, revealing a high white collar and green silk cravat. Obviously charades like that had become a common occurrence for the investigator because in a matter of seconds the costume had vanished into the dresser and he had splashed water on his face from a porcelain basin.

Olivia's eyes lightened upon spotting Basil, and she leapt out of the chair excitedly as Lillian got to her feet to greet the detective.

"Mr. Basil! I need your help, and—"

"All in good time," he interrupted, shrugging into his crimson smoking robe and carelessly tossing the dart that had held it back onto the target. The needle-sharp pin embedded itself with startling precision into the red-painted center and was promptly forgotten as Olivia protested and pleaded for him to listen to her. Lillian narrowed her eyes at the detective, offended by his callous rudeness as he sauntered by, running a paw through his light colored hair.

"But you don't understand, I'm in terrible trouble!"

"Mr. Basil, please, you should hear what she has to say, we—"

"If you'll excuse me, ladies."

"Now see here!" Dawson scowled and stepped forward, unable to believe that a clearly educated gentlemouse would treat a lady and a child with such discourtesy, even if their visit was less than conventional. His words fell on the same deaf ears as Lillian and Olivia's had, as Basil had raced back across the room to the chemistry table wearing a most maniacal grin. "These young ladies are in need of assistance! I think that you ought to listen—"

"Hold this please, Doctor," Basil said, handing the gun over to the older mouse as he searched among his notes and books for something.

"Of course. But, wait just a moment! How just did you know that I was a doctor?" Dawson asked Basil reclaimed the pistol and pushed a fresh bullet into the cartridge.

"A surgeon to be exact, just returned from military duty in Afghanistan. Am I right?"

"Why, yes!" he said with a chuckle. "Major David Q. Dawson. But how could you possibly—"

"It's quite simple really. You've sewn your torn cuff together with the Lombard stitch, which of course, only a surgeon uses." Basil said, patting the doctor on the cheek before gathering the plush round cushions from his red velvet chair and completely ignoring Dawson's irritation of having his imperfect clothing pointed out.

"And the thread is a unique form of kafka, easily distinguished by its—peculiar pungency—found only in Afghan provinces."

Lillian's lips parted in awe of the mouse's razor sharp keenness, suddenly feeling self conscious and wondering what sort of details Basil could deduce from her own physical appearance. Olivia looked up at her, clearly befuddled by the detective's elaborate vocabulary when he leaned over and whispered one of the more offensive details of Dawson's ripped cuff.

"Amazing!" Dawson exclaimed, genuinely impressed as Basil launched the pillows into his arms and spun the pistol's bullet chamber.

"Actually, it's elementary my dear Dawson."

Realizing that Basil was actually intending to fire the gun while he was still holding the cushions, Dawson's army-mouse training came back with a swift vengeance. He threw the pillows down into the green velvet chair and dove behind the red one with Lillian and Olivia. A second later the flat shook with the echoes of a pistol detonation and the room was taken by an explosive storm of feathers.

"Good God," Dawson murmured, clutching his heart.

"He's barking mad!" Lillian whispered and they nervously peeked out from behind the chair.

The gunshot had not gone unnoticed either, as the door leading to the kitchen was thrown open and the housemaid arrived to see what all the commotion was about.

"What in Heaven's name?" she cried, sputtering and coughing as she swallowed some of the smaller feathers as she came into the den. "Mr. Basil!" Rage and contempt for her horrid tenant flared in her expression as she advanced on Basil, shaking a reprimanding finger at him. Dawson, Lillian, and Olivia watched in astonishment as the detective froze in his throwing feathers about and looked over the chair. With his eyes wide and ears perked, his expression belonged to a terrified child that had just been caught doing something mischievous.

"How many times have I told you not to—"

"There, there, Mrs. Judson it's quite all right," he said, plastering a false looking smile on his face and smelling the warm air approvingly as he herded his landlady back towards the kitchen door. "Ah, I believe I smell some of those delightful cheese crumpets of yours. Why don't you fetch our guests some?"

Lillian's heart went out to the poor woman as she was pushed back into the kitchen. She was already at her nerve's end after spending five minutes in Basil's presence. She could only wonder what it was like to live with him. Obviously that hadn't been the first time he'd shot up her pillows, and indoors no less!

_I wonder how many chairs he's ruined…_

"Now! I know that bullet's here somewhere," Basil muttered, crawling along the feather covered floor around the ruined chair and raking his fingers through the carpet in search of the little steel pellet. Then suddenly, the babbling little girl appeared before him, holding the blackened cartridge and smiling innocently. "Thank-you, Miss," he said irritably, practically snatching the bullet from her paw.

"Flaversham. Olivia Flaversham," she replied sweetly.

"Eh, whatever," he said carelessly, returning to his laboratory table and dropping the bullet into a glass Petri dish and reaching for a second one from a small drawer behind a Bunsen burner.

"Yes, but you don't understand!"

"Shh!" _Wherever did this girl come from? _He thought to himself as he grabbed his microscope and held the bullet cartridges beneath the lenses, pressing the ends together to compare the lines. Excitement was swirling inside him like a storm, knowing that he was just seconds away from the final pieces of the puzzle he'd spent the better part of five years trying to solve. Yes, a perfect match! Just a few more identical grooves to check and—

No, no, no, no, no! One small indent was out of place! A mismatch. It couldn't be!

"Damn!"

Lillian, Olivia, and Dawson startled as a loud, anguished howl filled the flat. Basil's paws went to his head and raked through his hair, mussing it into tangles as he cursed, feeling the weight of the world crashing down upon him. Staring him in the face was two week failure of parading about like a Chinese hooligan in Mousedom's Cheapside struggling to obtain the very bullet that had just blown his theory clear to Timbuktu. Cold despair moved over him as he tossed the useless cartridges over his shoulder and trudged towards his favorite chair. Merciful heavens, where was that violin?

"Another dead end…he was within my grasp!"

Lillian turned to Dawson, raising her eyebrow and subtly pointed to the distraught mouse as a sorrowful tune filled the air. He shook his head, just as baffled as she was at the detective's bizarre and eccentric behavior. Olivia looked up at the doctor, who encouraged her to try again now that Basil wasn't racing around like a lunatic. Puffing her little chest out, the young mouseling marched up to Basil's chair, closely followed by Lillian.

"Now will you please listen to me? My Daddy's gone, and I'm all alone."

"Young lady, this is a most inopportune time," he replied dramatically and resumed his music, his ears drooping mournfully and his legs slung over the chair's arm. Infernal child, hadn't she been taught to never interrupt her elders, especially when there were far more important matters afoot! What was all this nonsense about loosing her father anyway? The Scottish were not known for wandering away from their kin. "Surely your mother knows where he is."

"I-I don't have a mother."

His hand slipped and the bow screeched across the strings as his back stiffened. To his profound horror the little girl's words struck a cord deep inside him that brought back a storm of childhood memories that he had long since buried in the depths of his mind. Basil looked down at her inquiringly, suddenly finding the child an octave less annoying…for a brief moment in time.

"See here, I simply have no time for lost fathers!" he exclaimed, remembering himself with a dark scowl before folding his arms and turning his nose away petulantly.

"I didn't loose him! He was taken by a bat," Olivia replied testily, putting her paws on her hips. She couldn't understand why Mr. Basil was simply refusing to listen to her! She hadn't been impolite to him in any way, and her Daddy had always said that politeness was the best way to address someone, especially when it was someone who had garnered public respect. But as soon as she told him about the frightening bat that had attacked her home and stolen her father, his expression changed and he suddenly seemed interested in what she had to say. So interested in fact, he leaned in closer to her.

"Did you say _bat_?"

"Yes…"

"Did he have a crippled wing?"

"I don't know, but he had a peg-leg!"

All traces of Basil's black mood vanished as he laughed triumphantly and jumped onto the arms of his easy chair. Lillian watched him, amazed at the drastic range of temperaments the famous sleuth had just displayed in the past five minutes.

"I say, do you know him?" Dawson asked, putting his paws on Olivia's shoulders supportively as Basil leapt onto the back of the chair and brandished his violin bow about as he spoke.

"_Know him? _That bat, one Fidgit by name, is in the employ of the very fiend who was the target of my experiment! The horror of my every waking moment! The nefarious Professor Ratigan!"

Lillian's lower lip caught in her teeth and she dropped her eyes to the floor as Basil pointed at the portrait photograph of a distinguished looking gentlerat on the mantle. She shuddered, remembering how incredibly different Ratigan's demeanor could be from the collected, smiling face in the picture.

"Ratigan?" Dawson asked, glancing at the photograph inquiringly as Basil vanished behind the chair. His passionate ravings about his archenemy were only emphasized more frighteningly by the rage of the lightning and rain thundering outside.

"He's a genius, Dawson! A genius twisted for evil… the Napoleon of crime!"

"As bad as all that, eh?" the doctor marveled, taking a second look at the picture. He had never heard of this dastardly crime-lord. In fact, it was difficult to believe he was the terrible fiend Basil described him to be, as his refined clothing and top hat were impeccably neat in the photograph.

"Worse! For years I've tried to capture him and I've come close, so very close! But each time he's narrowly evaded my grasp! There's not a corner of Mousedom safe while Ratigan's at large. There's no evil scheme he wouldn't concoct or depravity he wouldn't commit!"

He heaved a sigh, falling silent as he produced an elegant white ivory pipe from his smoking robe's pocket and opened a small, ornately carved box that sat on the little table beside his chair. Pinching a bit of tobacco, he tucked the dried herbs inside the chamber-bowl and struck a match to light it.

"Who knows what evil scheme that villain may be plotting at this very moment."

_Mr. Basil and Ratigan are positively obsessed with each other…as if they're playing some sort of mind-game! _"I have an inkling of what it could be," Lillian said quietly, folding her arms around her waist protectively.

Basil turned to her and eyed her sharply; breathing a contemplative puff of his pipe as he took a closer look at the young lady's appearance.

_The hems of her dress are frayed and the fabric has lost much of its vibrancy. It's been packed away for a long period of time. _

Her long brown hair, though damp from the rain, was frizzed and wavy with creases that signaled a daily use of hot irons and her blue shoes were heavily scuffed. Having completed his subtle inspection of her, Basil's gaze returned to her pretty face and found secrets and a restrained, but desperate plea for help in her honey-colored eyes.

_Her shoes don't match her dress... women don't wear mismatched outfits unless they're terribly pressed for time and without a plan. Ring on her left hand, she's married but in some sort of trouble related to Ratigan, as she mentioned she knows something about Miss Flatterwutses' missing father. She came here alone, unescorted and at night so she's not concerned about the social etiquette of young ladies—she's broken a bigger rule before. _

"You ran away from home with a fellow some time ago, but your plans didn't go accordingly, correct? Miss, ah…?"

"Dodie, my name is Lillian Dodie. Y-yes. I… two years ago I eloped to Mousedom with my fiancé, Thomas Kindle. We were captured by Professor Ratigan a day before the ceremony and taken to a dark ally. Thomas never told me that he owed somebody money, but… in any case, I signed a contract with the professor, trading three years of labor to help Thomas pay his debt.

"I've been working at a small bar in Cheapside since, while Thomas is forced to take part in Ratigan's crimes. I admit, it's unbearable at times but I'm terrified that Ratigan will murder Thomas if I fuss. But early this evening I overheard parts of a disturbing conversation and decided to take a chance to free myself and my fiancé."

Basil inhaled a breath of tobacco smoke thoughtfully. "Tell me what you heard then, please."

"I-It was two of Ratigan's men whispering at the bar. I don't know their names, but I heard them say that Fidgit had been sent to get the toymaker and by that time next week Ratigan would be in charge."

"Can you tell me anything more specific? Did they say what Ratigan was planning or where Ratigan is hiding?"

Lillian shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, that's all they said before they started watching the showgirls. I don't know myself where Ratigan lives. I've been brought to the professor before but both times I was blindfolded."

Taking care to keep his back turned, Basil allowed his eyebrow to lift suspiciously. What Miss Dodie was telling him hardly fit into Ratigan's past profiles. Since when had Ratigan become one for contracting his demonic bargains, and honoring them furthermore? In his mind he entertained the possibility that the young lady could have been sent by his rival as bait for a trap. After all, it was entirely too coincidental that he be visited by a young lady who knew Ratigan would kidnap a toymaker and the daughter of the alleged victim in the same evening. Or it was possible she was telling the truth—just not all of it.

No matter, there would be time to figure it out.

**Author's Notes **

DUN DUN DUN DUUUUNNN!!!! How did you guys like it? Just who the heck is Miss Lillian Dodie anyway? So many holes in her story…Basil's right to be a little wary, in my most humble opinion. In any case, many thanks to you, the reader, who have taken time out of your day to read my story. I send all my love and energy to you! 'Til next time.


	3. Enter the Professor

**Author's Notes: **

Hi again everybody! I do apologize for the all around lateness for the update. You all thought I was dead, didn't you?! The fact of the matter is that between being bombarded with projects, midterms, portfolio reviews, and the wickedest hangover I have ever experienced, I haven't had much time to write. And I confess, The Secret of NIMH fandom snapped its teeth at me and distracted me. XD! In any case, after a week of absolute misery and Hell at school I finally have a chance to sit down and belt out another chapter. The only thing that I'm twitching in frustration about is the lack of illustration on my end. I promised myself that I would have a sketch for each chapter and that's proving to be more difficult then I envisioned. But I have managed to make one! Dedicated to KCS as thanks for dropping a review. (A Nonni Mouse, drop me a note to tell me how you can be reached so I can draw something for you too!)

http://julibee-darling. All of my art can be viewed there.

Thank you so very much for reading! You're the only reason I bother writing in the first place.

* * *

_**Cheapside** _

The rain had returned to London's Cheapside with a vengeance by the time Professor Padraic Ratigan returned to his personal chambers. Ratigan took a long drag on his golden cigarette-holder, listening to the fading cheers and whistling of his men as he retreated behind the rose-colored silk curtains. Exuding the rich smoke slowly through his nostrils, he sauntered down the violet-carpeted hallway towards his bedroom doors. Truly, he deserved the praises his henchmen sang as they drank themselves into oblivion—who else in all of Mousedom could come up with such a delightful scheme? And with every bit of his plans falling so neatly into place, how could he not be entitled to a little gloating? The toymaker, Hiram Flaversham, had been only too easy to blackmail into his services. All it had taken was a hinted threat to his precious daughter and he fell back in line like a toy soldier. He could hardly wait to see the look on his face when Fidgit would return with his squealing brat.

He could hear the heavy rush of the currents through the sewers and rain-pipes of the old alehouse his secret quarters were located in. Arriving at the elegant pair of carved wooden doors, Ratigan daintily pulled out the golden key he kept beside his summoning bell and pushed it into the lock. Listening to the musical clicking the gears made as they shifted, he all but skipped into his bedroom with an extravagant sweep of his red-lined cape.

His personal sanctuary, a comfortably large suite, was dimly illuminated by oil-lamp sconces lining the purple pinstriped walls. His eyes circled the room appreciatively, taking immense comfort and pride in the exotic statues and keepsakes he'd collected over the years to celebrate his career as a crime-lord. Though at the moment, his lush, round bed of white sheets and purple draping was most inviting. It had been a long day, after all, finalizing his plans with the elite members of his circles and informing the lower ranks. But first, a brandy while he reviewed his daily numbers.

Smiling pleasantly and humming a tune, Ratigan pulled off his black over-cloak and hung it on the tall Sheppard's Hook coat hanger. Walking over to the plush Roman sofa he kept in the center of his room beside a handsome black-oak coffee table, the crime-lord extinguished his cigarette in the crystalline ash tray and set the holder in a thin wooden box lined with black velvet. Beside the bottle of fine golden brandy and accompanying glass was a written list margined by his right and left hands, along with several letters from comrades working outside of Mousedom. Taking note that one of the wax-sealed envelopes was endorsed with Captain Doran's looping script, he grinned excitedly and set it aside.

_Best for last, _he thought fondly, turning the little knob on his tabletop lamp up so he could clearly see the reported numbers and troubles in need of addressing. There was nothing particularly important occurring in the lives of the politicians and public officers he had under his influence. Pausing long enough to pour himself another helping of brandy, Ratigan picked up the quill pen beside the paper stacks and made a quick note for his eyes at Mouseland Yard to check up on his wretched nemesis' recent activities. It had been several weeks since he'd last caught that damned detective poking his nose into his business matters and now more than ever he needed to know exactly what Basil of Baker Street was up to.

_Oh, dear Basil… you'll hardly know what hit Mousedom by the time I get through with you. _

Half an hour later Ratigan arrived to the final page of his investments, issues concerning his tavern, _The Rat Trap_, located beneath the wooden docks of the Cheapside waterfronts. He sighed, deciding that one of these days he would have to come up with a better name for the establishment. The only reason he'd kept it so long was the irony that the name implied—in a way, it was his own personal trap: for Mouseland Yard scum, that is. Besides, it generated considerable profit despite the seedy crowds it attracted.

_Hmpf, first thing I'll do when I rule Mousedom after taking care of that middling detective is create a new establishment more appropriate to be associated with my memorable name. _Ratigan reclined back on the cushions, skimming over the numbers and smoothly calculating them in his mind. He raised an eyebrow upon spotting the last written line from Broker, the bartender and book-keep of his tavern.

Lillian Dodie didn't show up for work this evening and hasn't been seen since last night.

_Lillian Dodie…ah, yes, Kindle's woman. _Ratigan smirked, shaking his head as he recalled the young lady in question. Long brown hair, pretty little thing really. She'd never been of particular interest to him—she was nothing more than a bored, middle-class woman who had done a little too much thinking at the end of her teenage years. He recalled her fiancé, Thomas Kindle. He'd been among his men at the gathering earlier that evening, fingering a dagger and grinning like an idiot, wearing a tacky red and white striped shirt under a brown overcoat and a dark gray sailor's cap. How he'd managed to seduce a bred young lady like Miss Dodie baffled him—Kindle's sort was the easiest of all to manipulate; seducible via the sparkle of gold and scent of monetary notes. Probably grew up in back allies or an orphanage. In any case, Kindle's mediocre services were only tolerable due to the mild amusement he found in enslaving his fiancé.

With a bit of thought Ratigan could clearly remember his first encounter with Miss Dodie. Kindle had once again, vanished for a brief period into the countryside. Under any circumstances he wouldn't have cared, if not for the considerable debt that was owed to him due to Kindle's gambling habits. Perhaps it was Miss Dodie's sharp tongue that had caught his attention, but when it was all said and done, he'd actually agreed to sign a contract with her. It was sitting in the drawer of his personal desk on the other side of the room. Her father must be a business man who had made the mistake of allowing his brat to watch him work. Under the conditions that she would not have to submit herself as a whore, she agreed to work for him to help lessen Kindle's debt.

The terms were utterly tacky and straight out of a ten-penny novel pamphlet. Let her keep her silly terms. Little did she know that her sacrifice was hardly helping Kindle—the idiot couldn't seem to stay out of the gambling parlors. He was rather looking forward to informing her that she had another decade of being a tavern-wench once the two months that remained of her three year contract was over.

He found it peculiar that she hadn't come to work that evening. It would be the first time she'd ever stepped out of line during her time working for him. And what a night she picked. How suspicious, that she happen to disappear on the eve of his most diabolical scheme. Wherever could she have wandered off to? Ever thorough, the professor reviewed his previous encounter with the silly woman carefully. Could she have possibly snuck a peek through the blindfold and saw the entrance to his inner lairs? Or had one of his blithering idiot inner members run his mouth a little too loudly in a drunken fit?

_Damned fools…I'm surrounded by them! _

Ratigan sucked in a deep breath, refusing to let his temper get the better of him. After all, the little twit may have finally cracked and sold herself for a profitable margin. Dipping his quill into the handsome inkwell, he quickly scrawled a note to Broker to inform him when and where the minute Miss Dodie was spotted. Apparently an interview in Felicia's presence was in order…

_**The Boarding House, Cheapside** _

The corners and edges of the world had turned blurry so many tankards ago; Thomas Kindle could barely remember the way back to his own bed. With his head pleasantly groggy and control over his body limited, he clumsily staggered through the creaky doors of the small room he shared with Lillian. In the darkness he ended up tripping over his own shoelaces, and he tumbled to the floor with a curse. Just what the hell was going on? Why wasn't the light on? Lillian should have been home hours ago, and she never went to sleep before he came home.

_I think…_he thought, giggling drunkenly as he felt along the floorboards for the dresser, where Lillian kept a small book of matches and the oil lamp. Oh, and the bed was somewhere over there too. Eventually his fingertips found the little packet of felt-tip matches—the hard part turned out to be lighting it. The blasted things must have been wet or something.

"Finally," he muttered as the room finally became illuminated. Pulling off his hat and coat and casting them onto the floor, Thomas heaved himself onto the bed and collapsed face down into the pillows. The flowery scent of his fiancé filled his nostrils, although it no longer had the pleasant effect that it once had over his mind. Rather, these days he found himself craving the thick perfumes that wafted from Miss Kitty Mouse's radiant, white fur. He laughed and rolled over, curling himself into a ball. If he smelled his shirt he could still pick up some of that pretty scent. A low, gleeful laugh gurgled out of his mouth as his mind replayed his happy evening—the heady, alcohol flavored kisses and lacy garter and feathers.

Come to think of it, had he even seen Lillian that night? He tried to remember through his booze-hazy memory. She must have been somewhere in the bar, where the hell else would she be?

_Whatever, _he thought, yanking the think blanket over his body and letting his eyes droop close. She was free to do whatever she wanted to with her evenings, and if she ended up trippin' up…well, the professor would surely handle it. The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was the hangover he'd surely have the next day.

_**Baker Street** _

"Now, tell me the story young lady, and pray, be specific as you possibly can. I presume that your father is the toymaker Miss Dodie mentioned?"

"Yes," Olivia nodded. "Daddy's shop is on Maddox Street. We moved there from Scotland three years ago, and we live behind the store. Today's my birthday and Daddy and I were having a party."

"Go on."

"He made me a music box for my birthday present… Daddy gave it to me, and that's when we heard somebody trying to make the door open. Daddy locks the door at night so that bat couldn't get in right away. He hid me in one of the cabinets, right before I heard the window break." Olivia paused, her tiny paws fisting into balls as she recalled what had happened earlier that night. The sadness and fear that she had somehow managed to forget after meeting Miss Dodie and Dr. Dawson seemed to come back in the form of a hard lump in her throat.

_Daddy… where did that bat take you? _

Feeling her heart clench tightly with sympathy, Lillian picked up one of the napkins left on the tea tray and knelt down beside Olivia. "It's all right," she said softly. "Take your time. Tell Mr. Basil what else you saw."

"I peeked through the door and saw my father and the bat fighting," she said after a moment. "They were punching and kicking each other. Then the bat grabbed Daddy around the neck and began jerking him around all over the place. Daddy's work table fell in front of the cabinet so I couldn't see what happened after that."

"Did you hear them say anything, shouting perhaps?"

"The bat was laughing and said 'I got you, toymaker!' before I heard Daddy gasp and call out to me. That's when I tried to get out of the cupboard, but I had to push very hard for it to move."

Basil could hardly keep his enthusiasm hidden as he listened to Miss Flubberstick's story. Pacing around as he smoked his pipe, he allowed his mind to organize the information she gave him. All in all, the story he was receiving was very plausible and clear—it wasn't often that child-witnesses were able to recall so many details of a crime they'd seen.

"This case is most intriguing with its multiplicity of elements. Its many twists and turns…" he said to no one in particular before turning sharply to Olivia. "Now, you're certain you've told me everything? The _slightest _detail may be important."

"It's just as I said," Olivia replied confidently. "And then my father was gone!"

"What do you make of it?" Dawson asked as Lillian politely covered a discreet yawn.

"Hmm, Ratigan's up to something," Basil replied thoughtfully, striding over to the other side of the room and wandering onto the balcony that surrounded the den of his house. "A crime of the most sinister nature, no doubt. The question is: what would he want with a toymaker?" He had a feeling that clues that would answer that question resided with the young lady sitting in the green easy chair. Though Miss Dodie had hardly provided answers to the inquiries burning in his mind, he would proceed with caution and play his cards cleverly to satisfy his curiosity.

Lillian sighed, catching her lower lip in her teeth as her hands clenched in her lap. She had a hunch that the detective didn't' quite believe her story. Granted, she hadn't exactly been forthcoming about everything, but he hardly needed to know the finer details on her relationship with her fiancé! Perhaps not pressing for the details he had with Olivia was simply his way of trying to avoid embarrassing her further?

_Thomas...if the situations were reversed, would you be doing the same? _Why on earth would that matter? Of course he would! Wouldn't he?

She startled, pulled back to reality as Olivia's terrified shriek broke the thoughtful silence that had enveloped the investigator's den. Dawson and Basil whirled around, finding the girl-mouse standing in front the round window beside the main entrance, her big brown eyes wide as she gawked at the thing silhouetted with lightning. It was an eerie creature, hanging by its feet with oversized ears and a mouth full of jagged teeth. A second later he lost his footing, and awkwardly flopped to the ground.

Basil's heart leapt: Fidget! He'd recognize those ghastly, beady yellow eyes anywhere! "Quickly, Doctor! We've not a moment to lose!" He cried, throwing open the front door and racing outside.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

DUN DUN DUN DUN!! So how did you guys like it? I'm hoping that you all enjoyed it, because Ratigan, as I've discovered, is disgustingly difficult to write for. I cant help but think I've made him sound a bit gay…but you can't deny that he's NOT flamboyant in the flick! Ahh well, review please! More reviews means more story faster. XD!! Much love to all:: love, hugs, and cookies to all:::


	4. Unusual Footprints

**Author's Notes: **

How's it hanging everybody! Three cheers for the next chapter of A Doctor's Memoirs :::hawk cheers::: This is a record track for me guys, usually my updates fizzle out and the story starts collecting dust 'cause of the lack of observed interest. :::wipes away tears of joy:: the positive reviews and the number of story hits tell me ADM is liked enough for people to take a peek at it. XD! In any case I'm gonna hush up right now and we can get on with the story. Last chapter wasn't much insight on Basil and friends' end I'm afraid. But that's all gonna change for this round!

Enjoy everybody:::big hugs all around:::

_

* * *

London, 1904_

_Aye me, reading this brings back such fond memories. I remember how Basil and I searched through Ratigan's private chambers Mouseland Yard a few days after the Flaversham's and Miss Dodie's departure from Baker Street. It was located beneath the wine cellar of a seedy sailor's restaurant on the Cheapside waterfronts, a few feet below the professor's headquarters. I found that the bedroom reflected Ratigan's pompous, frivolous tastes perfectly, as did Basil. Immediately my friend began tearing through the desk and bookcase, searching for something with a fair amount of determination. When I asked him what he was looking for, he simply replied that he would explain later and keep this matter private before stuffing a letter and a few sheets of paper from a drawer into the pocket of his Inverse cloak. No sooner had he closed it several officers from Mouseland Yard arrived, along with the chief inspector. With a bit of observing my friend was easily able to deduce what had occurred within the room during the last hours Ratigan had inhabited it. _

_We helped them pack up many of Ratigan's personal belongings, to be categorized and sorted at police headquarters to aid in capturing the rest of the professor's vast criminal circles. I cannot possibly describe how much information the inspectors received from the collection, and for months afterwards it seemed there was no end the steady numbers of shocking arrests made as Ratigan's comrades were put on a boat. But alas, I've gotten so far ahead of myself and allowed nostalgia to get the better of me! _

_Looking back on what happened now, Basil must have indeed wanted a partner to accompany him on his cases. Though he's never admitted it to me, I think I was the first mouse Basil encountered who, like himself, had no family ties or obligations to uphold that could pose as a distraction from his work. I'm sure that he would have argued incessantly with any other investigator and they would have driven each other mad. Nevertheless, whatever his reasoning, I am forever content that fate led me to his doorstep. _

**London, 1897**

Basil's heart leapt: Fidget! He'd recognize those ghastly, beady yellow eyes anywhere! "Quickly, Dawson! We've not a moment to loose!" He cried, throwing open the front door and racing outside.

"I-I'm right behind you Basil!"

Watching the two gentle-mice vanish into the night beyond the front stoop, Lillian sunk deeper into the shredded green armchair as an icy cold dread settled over her heart. He must have seen her, she was sitting right in plain sight of the window! Dear God, if he recognized her and told the professor…what on Earth had he been doing there in the first place? Had he followed her? Had Ratigan somehow found out what she had eavesdropped and sent his men after her? And what of Thomas? The young lady-mouse clapped her paws over her mouth as she struggled to get a grip on her racing imagination, hardly noticing Mrs. Judson rush out of the kitchen.

_Stop it! He couldn't possibly, no one saw me leave! _She told herself firmly, curling her paws into tight fists. She'd made the choice to take the risk of her betrayal being discovered the minute she'd set out from the boarding house. _I will not regret doing the right thing! God in Heaven, please let Thomas have made himself scarce tonight…_

"Great Heavens, what's happening now?" Mrs. Judson exclaimed, hurrying over to the front door and pulling Olivia back inside the house by the paw.

"It was that bat! Fidget!" Olivia cried, pulling on Mrs. Judson's grip. "The one who took Daddy!"

"Stay in here, child!" Mrs. Judson shook her head, having had more than enough experiences of letting Basil deal with the questionable characters that occasionally appeared to harass or spy on him. "We best let Mr. Basil deal with him."

Skidding to a halt on the sidewalk outside his home, Basil looked around, his eyes swiftly observing the surrounding area around for any sign of movement. Fidget's visit was hardly a surprise—he'd concluded long ago that Ratigan sent the crippled bat to spy on him when one of his greater schemes was underway, no doubt to see if his master's plans were to be interfered with or not. _Fidget's little visit confirms the importance of the case, _Basil thought with a small smirk as he pocketed his pipe and dropped his eyes to the ground. There, he found something intriguing: a trail of muddy right-footprints accompanied by splotches leading out of the bushes by his window and trailing down the sidewalk. Thank Heavens it had rained that evening!

Winded by the sudden excursion, Dawson trailed to a halt behind Basil, shivering at the drastic change of temperature between the detective's den and the chilly, September night air. Pulling the lapels of his gray tweed jacket up around his cheeks, the old doctor looked up and down the street, finding it as desolate and empty as it was when he'd arrived with Miss Dodie and Olivia. "No sign of the blackguard anywhere!"

"Not quite, Dawson," Basil replied, dropping to all fours to better look at the trail. "He left some rather unusual footprints! They obviously belong to the same fiend who abducted the girl's father: Ratigan's peg-legged lackey!" He sighed, cursing under his breath. The mud on Fidget's feet had run out several feet from them, and the direction they went in was hardly a useful clue as to where Ratigan's headquarters were.

Dawson followed the wet, blackened trail all the way to its fading point, noticing the peculiar foot-and-spot pattern Fidget's limping track created. He lifted an eyebrow, noticing that one print didn't match the rest. Bending over, the middle-aged mouse found that it wasn't a footprint at all—it was a sopping wet, filthy garment of some kind. A hat perhaps?

"Eh, Basil?" he murmured, closing an eye as he tried to focus his vision on the thing. He startled as the detective snatched it out of his paws a second later and jumped to his feet. The doctor bristled slightly at the rudeness, but bit his tongue as Basil produced his magnifying glass and began examining his finding.

"Ah-ha! Excellent work, old man!" Basil said, laughing gleefully as he turned and ran back towards the door. Dawson shrugged, watching the detective go, finding it somewhat absurd that such an esteemed professional like Basil was acting like a child with a new toy on Christmas morning.

"Now, there's nothing to be afraid of my dear," Mrs. Judson said reassuringly, patting Olivia on the head and smiling warmly at her. There would have been much more noise out front of there was trouble. The old housekeeper's ears perked however, upon hearing leaves rustling and the familiar sound of Basil's running footsteps quickly approaching. Her tenant came within view of the door in a mater of seconds, and would have barreled right over Olivia if she hadn't pulled the girl out of the way. _Ooh, what I wouldn't give to have that man remember his manners! _She thought, glaring at Basil as the good doctor closed the door behind them.

"The scoundrel's quite gone," he told Olivia abidingly.

"But not for long, Miss Flamhammer!" Basil interjected excitedly, pulling off his smoking robe and tossing it uncaringly onto the window seat where Olivia had spotted Fidget hanging about outside.

"Flaversham!" the little girl-mouse corrected angrily as Basil opened the glass-paneled door of the grandfather clock located in the corner beside the window and produced a handsome dark brown jacket.

"Whatever. Now, we simply pursue our peg-legged friend until he leads us to Miss Dodie's fiancé and the girl's father," the detective explained with a flourish of his paw, buckling the silver clasp of his overcoat's belt.

"Then you'll get my Daddy back?" Olivia's face brightened, realizing that Mr. Basil was readying himself to leave the house and would actually begin looking for her father right that very minute! She ran up to him and leapt onto his back, hugging her arms and legs around his waist as tightly as she could.

Lillian had to stifle her giggle and cover the smile pulling at her mouth with her paw as she watched Basil straighten uneasily, his arms out and head craned to peer at the little girl uncomfortably. Clearly, the detective was unused to handling children. Not that she had much more experience than he—she was the only child to her parents and not surprisingly, had seen few mouselings during her time at _The Rat Trap_. Yet she found a strange, lighthearted amusement watching Basil awkwardly push Olivia down his legs much like a pair of pants and step away from her as if she were a leper.

"Yes, and quite soon if I'm not mistaken," he replied, putting his nose in the air and adjusting his clothes. "Now hurry along, Dawson. We must be off to Toby's."

"Toby's?" Dawson asked, following Basil further into the den as he grabbed a long brown Inverse cape from the wooden, Sheppard's hook coat rack at the foot of the stairs and slung his arms through it.

"Oh, you must meet him, he's just the chap for this!"

"Y-you want me to come?"

"I should think a stouthearted army-mouse like you would leap at the chance for adventure," Basil said with a smirk, polishing his magnifying glass on his sleeve with a quick breath before pocketing it again and rushing over to another dresser and rummaging through the top drawer.

"Well I-I am rather curious," he admitted sheepishly with a chuckle as Lillian hurried past him to retrieve her own coat hanging on the railing barring the entry platform and the rest of the den.

"I'm going with you, Mr. Basil!" she said, pulling her hands through the midnight blue sleeves of her and tugging her long hair out from beneath the collar.

Basil turned sharply. "No, Miss Dodie. It's hardly proper for a young woman like yourself to involve herself in business like this and I would prefer that you remained here, where it is safe."

She rolled her eyes unnervingly. She had a feeling he would say something to that effect. "Mr. Basil, it's obvious that after spending half an hour with you that you yourself aren't exactly concerned with proper behavior. And I'm sure you can see that I'm not so much beholden to society's silly rules either, seeing as I've eloped, worked in a bar, and come to see an unmarried man alone in the middle of the night."

Basil bristled at her calm defiance as she listed her offenses on her fingers. Usually whenever a female client commissioned his help he left her in Mrs. Judson's care for however long the case took to solve. "Miss Dodie, pray try to understand that I cannot be distracted in any way while I work and that I cannot worry about your protection every step of the way."

"I'm not a child, Detective, I'm fully capable of looking after myself."

"Basil, I don't mean to be rude but perhaps it would be best if she came with us. We might need her help to find her fiancé," Dawson said sensibly. "And I hardly think it would cause trouble, seeing as I was the one who escorted her here."

Basil bit the inside of his cheek, wishing that the doctor, bless his soul, could somehow understand his reasons behind wanting Miss Dodie to remain at his home with the child and Mrs. Judson. She was hardly a common lady looking for his help—allowing her to come along was something of a double-edged sword. While she undoubtedly had important information relating to the case, she could easily be a clever kind of bait for a trap by Ratigan. He wouldn't put using a young lady to end his means above that reprehensible creature. He was about to open his mouth to respond when the kitchen door was flung open with a slam, and the three adult-mice looked up in time to see Olivia race into the den. She was already dressed in her coat and scarf, clearly as every bit determined to be a part of the investigation as Lillian was.

"Wait for me! I'm coming too!" she cried, seizing her hat as she ran past Basil's red velvet easy-chair. In her rush she hadn't noticed the detective's violin sitting on top of her beret and it swayed on the cushion before it tipped over and began a swift decent to the floor.

Lillian could barely move away in time as Basil dove onto the floor and caught his precious instrument by the base in his paws. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs and his ribs pressed by his own weight against the rumpled carpet. Of course the little one would want to come too—damn it all, it was just his luck!

"What? Certainly not! This is no business for children!" he said firmly, crawling back onto his knees and lovingly placing his violin safely back on the chair.

"Are we going to take a cop?" Olivia asked as she began filling her pockets with the cheese crumpets Mrs. Judson had set out with the tea, oblivious to what Basil had just said as he got to his feet.

Basil sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe the headache that was steadily building in his skull. Everything was conspiring against him that evening, even Dawson if this kept up! With a strained smile and forced patience, he took her paw and guided her around to look at him. "I don't think you understand. It will be quite dangerous," he explained, his pinched fingers emphasizing his words before he sat down in his chair. He stiffened, gasping as a definite crush and the sound of splintering wood filled his ears. Olivia gasped, watching Basil mutter curses and heave himself up to yank his violin out from under his rear end. His weight had split the thing clean in two, the only bit holding the two pieces together being the steel strings.

"Why you! Look what—" he began, his voice harsh and indescribably cross as he waved the broken instrument about, the strings tweaking and twanging as the base bounced and swung about on them. Basil could feel his temper reeling—how he _loathed _dealing with women and children! One species was always too complicated, the other too simple-minded, and both were unbearably impossible to reason with! Remembering himself, Basil sucked in a deep breath and got to his feet, gritting his teeth as he clenched his fists and forced another smile on his face. "Young lady, _you _are most definitely _not _accompanying us. And that is FINAL!" he shouted, stamping his foot with finality as Olivia cringed at his sudden outburst.

Lillian glared at the detective and put her paws on the little girl's shoulder. "It's hardly _her _fault you sat on your violin, Mr. Basil! You've no right to raise your voice at her."

"Miss Dodie, you are already treading on extremely thin ice. Do not try my patience at the moment!"

She couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face. "You're hardly intimidating when you're irritated. Please!" she said, holding up a hand as his eyes widened and eyes narrowed darkly at her. "Mr. Basil, I will watch Olivia. You won't even notice we're there."

"Volunteering to babysit the child hardly helps the situation," he retorted stubbornly, folding his arms petulantly.

"If chasing after Fidget is what we're going to be doing, I can promise you that eventually we'll be paying a visit to that club I've been working at. He's a regular customer. So is every other one of Ratigan's men. And with all due respect, detective, I can talk to people who won't be so anxious to speak with you. You're going to need my help."

Basil took in a deep breath, willing himself to control his annoyance. While her point was strong, the apprehensive details surrounding her presence was just as much and he searched her face carefully as he debating voicing his opinions of her. She met his gaze without hesitation—either she was a skilled liar or being truthful. And obviously Dawson's allegiance on the matter in question lay with her and the girl. It was in his narrowed eyes and encouraging hand gestures towards them. He sighed, disliking admitting defeat as much as he disliked children, women's tricks, and oh, damn everything to hell!

"Very well, Miss Dodie. As long as you keep an eye on Miss Flackermitts and aren't a hindrance during the investigation."

"Flaversham!"

"Whatever."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

Holy crapola! Another chapter so soon! It's such a record for me…it makes me so grateful for Sundays. I literally spent the whole day belting this out. I hope everybody liked it! Basil and Lillian bickering was definitely amusing and fun to write. Hope to see everybody again really soon! And I promise they'll be some more artwork linked out soon.


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